


returned favors (and fulfilled promises)

by cresserendipity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Background AtsuKita, Background Relationships, Background Ushiten, Childhood Memories, M/M, Modeling, Mutual Pining, Photographer!Osamu, Photography, akaashi has a lip ring, fashiondesigner!akaashi, mentioned Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26836168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresserendipity/pseuds/cresserendipity
Summary: A thousand favors—to be collected.One promise—to be kept.(Or: Osamu is a photographer who only ever takes black and white photos, that is... until he meets Akaashi.)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111





	returned favors (and fulfilled promises)

**Author's Note:**

> I am once again offering you a story without any conflicts whatsoever... they are just... in love... thank you...
> 
> (if you haven't read the tags, there's a slight mention of homophobia here a little later... so heads up...)

Osamu has loved photography ever since he could remember. The first time he held a camera, he was nine. His grandfather visited them, bringing his old camera with him. It only contained one roll of a black and white film, and he snapped picture after picture, feeling exhilarated by the action of preserving micro moments on the borrowed camera that was too big for his hands. He thought he couldn’t get happier in that moment—not until his grandfather humored him and had the roll of film developed, showing Osamu the photos he captured in monochrome.

He remembered being so proud for having the power to stop time. The pictures were blurry and shaky, the lighting bad and the subjects out of focus, but it was the thought that counted, and ever since that time, a small fire burned inside Osamu, a promise to keep on doing that _thing_ that made him feel pleased and powerful.

Thirteen years later and he’s still here, with a camera still in his hands, capturing the world around him in black and white photographs.

“Okay, so I know your aesthetic is black and white, but can you, I don’t know, make an exception for me?” Atsumu pleaded beside him, keeping in stride with Osamu’s brisk pace.

“You know I don’t take colored pictures—not even sepias—so if you can’t work with that, then I can’t help you,” Osamu answered, a little breathy from his little jog across campus.

“But this project is for a major subject and I need photos of me in silk that can be seen in all of its glory, and I can’t exactly do that if it’s in black and white,” Atsumu grumbled. Osamu just rolled his eyes and started to walk faster to avoid him.

_“You owe me Miya Osamu!”_

Osamu stopped in his tracks when he heard Atsumu yell. He slowly turned around and furrowed his brows at his twin brother who’s already stalking towards him, his lips curled in a sneer, knowing he has struck a nerve. Atsumu knows Osamu doesn’t like to owe anybody—not even his own brother—and does everything in his power not to ask anyone for help.

“What was that?” Atsumu cocked his head to the side, his expression struggling to stay innocent but his eyes are full of devious mischief. “Oh, _right,_ I talked fifteen girls into modelling for you for that one fashion spread that prevented you from failing… What was it that you told me when you finished it on time?” he continued.

Atsumu is not trying to hide his amusement now, and instead marveled at Osamu’s pissed face. He knew he struck a nerve—knew that he just took out the key into making Osamu do anything for him.

“When I said—”

“I _do_ believe that what I’m asking for is within the category of _‘anything’,_ ” Atsumu cut him off, his eyes glinting maliciously with a shit-eating grin. “That’s what you said, right? You’d do _anything_ for me in order to repay me.”

Osamu gritted his teeth in annoyance. This is _exactly_ why he hated being indebted to someone, they ask for the most _absurd_ things and make you go against your values—but there’s nothing you can do because they basically saved your life. Osamu hated being indebted to Atsumu the most, because his brother somehow was able to come up with the things Osamu hated with a fiery passion.

He exhaled a heavy breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, this is what I’ll do…”

“You’ll take pictures of me.”

“No.”

“In color.”

_“No.”_

“Samu—”

“Listen to me, you _shit_ ,” Osamu all but growled, effectively shutting Atsumu up. “I know a senior in the same department, he’s a really good photographer and he specializes in fashion, he’ll do a better job than me. I’ll ask him to take photos of you,” he explained.

“I _need_ this photoshoot done _today,_ Samu,” Atsumu emphasized, crossing his arms together over his chest as he frowned. He really couldn’t understand his twin, like, sure, his photos look really good in black and white, but isn’t he getting bored or fed up seeing the same shades of grey over and over again?

“You’ll have it done today,” Osamu said, rolling his eyes.

Atsumu clucked his tongue but didn’t argue, because if there’s one thing he knew about Osamu—it’s that he never breaks his promises.

  
  
  


“Miya, you’re pushing your luck,” Kita said, not bothering to look up from his computer where he’s retouching some photos.

“Kita-san, please, he’s really good. He’s a fashion design major and he’s no virgin in photoshoots, you won’t even sweat.” Osamu kept talking, leaning over Kita’s desk and trying to make his pout be seen. If there’s anything that could melt Kita’s heart, it’s Osamu’s pout and pleading eyes that rarely anybody sees.

“I already have so much to do without one more fashion designing diva bossing me around,” Kita deadpanned, his mouth forming a straight line as he carefully air brushed a blemish from a model’s leg.

“Kita-san, he won’t, I _swear._ He’s…. _kind_ —” Osamu gritted through his teeth. “—you’ll like him… or you won’t. But anyway, he won’t bother you, just literally take a few pictures of him—you won’t even need to edit it, he’s effortlessly flawless—then send it to him,” Osamu pleaded. Kita is his only hope, he’s the only bearable friend he has out of the entire photography department.

Kita sighed, like he can’t believe they’re still having this conversation right now. “Miya, look—”

 _“You can add him to your portfolio,”_ Osamu blurted out. He didn’t know what pushed him to say it—probably his desperate ass and the little bit of concern he has for his twin brother’s GPA—but no one was even supposed to know that Kita was building a portfolio.

“How did you know about that?” the senior snapped, a blush already creeping up the apple of his cheeks. Kita-san who’s usually stoic and indifferent is _blushing._

Osamu cleared his throat and tried to think of a way out, founding none. “I—well, I… saw it? Maybe? Kinda… A little bit… But it was amazing Kita-san! And my twin will totally fit in one of those pages.”

Kita raised an eyebrow at that, ears perking up. “Twin?”

Osamu just nodded.

“Identical?”

Osamu nodded, more enthusiastically.

 _If he’s as good looking as Osamu, then…_ Kita heaved a sigh and slumped down his chair. “I want to look at some of his past works first. If he’s one of those crazy avant-garde design students, I’m out.”

Osamu was already nodding again and pulling his phone out from his back pocket before Kita even finished talking.

  
  
  


It was a week later when he saw Atsumu again. He heard the photoshoot was done with no casualties, and his brother managed to finish the requirement with plenty of time to spare. All was well, and they both got swept up by the raging currents of their schoolworks, not even having time to piss each other off for the hell of it.

This time, it was Osamu who was approaching the other Miya. Atsumu was in the open field, sitting under an oak tree with his back against the wide trunk, a sketch pad on his thighs while he sketched dark lines of charcoal on paper.

“You’re aware you look like some pretentious 1960s artist there, right? I can take a picture of your clothes, exchange it for a button-down shirt, maybe add a fedora hat on top—bro you’ll look straight out of a black and white film,” Osamu teased, slumping down beside Atsumu with his camera cradled against his chest.

Atsumu rolled his eyes and rubbed his fingers on the charcoal, then sketched some more. “You know, I’m starting to think you actually get off on black and white photos.”

“Yeah, sure, I actually have a list of all the color codes of different shades of grey taped on my ceiling. I masturbate to it every night,” Osamu said, taking a peek at Atsumu’s sketch pad. It’s a rough sketch, but it vaguely looks like dark ripped jeans with a black shirt and a windbreaker jacket. It seems oddly familiar, come to think of it…

Atsumu suddenly shut the sketch pad close, his fingers leaving new charcoal fingerprints on the cover. He faced Osamu with a stern look. “What do you want?”

“Is that…” Osamu started, finger pointing weakly at the closed sketch pad now tucked under his brother’s armpits. His head was cocked to the side, the gears in his head working overdrive.

 _“No,”_ Atsumu answered, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No.”

“But isn’t that Kita-san?” Osamu asked with faux innocence, it was _totally_ Kita. He could clearly remember all the days he saw Kita wear the _exact_ same thing. That was his favorite jacket and he has like, five similar ripped jeans.

Osamu looked at his brother, saw him blushing and sputtering, and if that wasn’t obvious as hell then Osamu doesn’t know what is. “Ohhh…” Osamu hummed, amused by Atsumu’s little crush.

“Shut up,” Atsumu growled.

“I’m not saying anything.” Osamu grinned, amusement evident in his voice as he put both of his hands in the air as a gesture of surrender.

“Good, because you need something from me and you’re not allowed to tell anyone I’m sketching Kita-san,” Atsumu huffed with his head held high.

Osamu just rolled his eyes, muttering a quiet _what the fuck_ , and shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. Anyway, do you know anyone who can give me access to the broadcasting room?”

“Straight to the point, I see…” Atsumu cocked an eyebrow and started scratching lightly on his cheek, leaving dark smudges of charcoal on fair skin. It seemed like he forgot his fingertips were dirty, and if Osamu also _forgot_ to mention it, then it’s not his fault. “What are you gonna do in the broadcasting room? Profess your undying love for Aran?” he teased.

“Jesus Christ, I’m over Aran, okay? Stop it already or I’ll deck you,” Osamu groaned, “I want to take a photo of the broadcasting room.” He was beyond annoyed that Atsumu was really not going to let him live down the fact that he got rejected by the very cool and awesome senior majoring in music production.

It was a mistake, Osamu has admitted to it a thousand times, and yet Atsumu still teases him about it like he’s going to ask for Aran’s number again in the middle of the hallway like a creep.

“Why would you want a picture of the broadcasting room? There’s literally nothing there,” Atsumu frowned.

“Actually, there is. It’s a challenge for myself, the little different colored buttons and textures of stuffs there are going to be a pain in the ass to tone, so I want to do it,” Osamu said without a trace of doubt in his voice.

“Seriously, are you out of your mind?” Atsumu asked.

“No?”

“Are you at least going to do it digitally?”

“No, I’m going to use the darkroom,” Osamu grinned, already anticipating the grueling work.

“You are actually crazy, what the fuck, why would you even make things hard for yourself?” Atsumu shook his head, his right cheek now badly smudged with charcoal.

“Excuse me, stop judging the art of photography. Just—do you know anyone or not?”

Atsumu sighed and cupped his jaw with his hand—Osamu was trying so hard to stifle his laughter, because Atsumu’s face was now a charcoal-printed mess—as he tried to think whether he could help or not. “Actually, I do—”

Osamu exhaled in relief and started to grin happily.

“But first, how important is this? On a scale of _nah, no problem_ to _matter of life and death_?” Atsumu asked, one eyebrow high on his forehead as if he’s in a very important business meeting.

“You just want to know to what extent I’ll go in order to repay you for this,” Osamu deadpanned.

Atsumu snapped his fingers and pointed at Osamu. “Bingo, my dear brother. So, that scale?” He started laughing when he saw Osamu’s face contorts, like he just ate something sour. “Come on, you rarely ask me for help, I have to take all my chances.”

“I’ll say it’s a nine. A _thing to do before I die,_ so it’s really important for me,” Osamu replied thoughtfully.

Atsumu hummed and thought about it, dragging his fingers from his cheek to scratch at the corner of his nose. “Okay, I’ll introduce you to Ushijima, then.” He nodded.

“Miya, do you know who—oh, Atsumu, you’re here…” Both Miyas turned to the source of the voice, finding Kita walking towards them on the grass, wearing the exact same ripped jeans and windbreaker jacket over a beige shirt that Atsumu was just sketching minutes ago.

“Kita-san, hello…” Osamu greeted and nudged his brother beside him, who was blushing profusely at the moment while tightening his grip around his sketch pad.

“H-Hello Kita-san…” Atsumu mumbled.

Kita nodded at the both of them, lips in a tight line and the tips of his ears slightly turning pink. “Miya—I mean, Osamu—do you know who’s on duty at the computer lab on Wednesday nights?” he asked, trying so hard to focus on who he is talking to. “I left my camera bag there, and the current person on duty said she has no clue.”

Osamu furrowed his eyebrows, he rarely even goes to the computer lab because like what everyone else says about him, he’s old-fashioned and worked better in the darkroom. “Computer lab? I don’t know Kita-san… sorry.”

Kita sighed under his breath. “Okay, thanks, anyway. I better go—”

“I know who’s on duty,” Atsumu blurted out.

Both Osamu and Kita turned to look at him, and he cleared his throat, staring straight at Kita. “It’s Tsukishima Kei during Wednesday nights.”

Kita raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asked absentmindedly, silently taking in the state of Atsumu’s charcoal-smudged face.

“Of course. I’m often at the computer lab, you know,” Atsumu pouted.

“Well, I don’t,” Kita said, he licked his lips and looked down at Atsumu. “Can you take me to him?”

It was like someone set Atsumu’s ass on fire at the speed of him bolting up. “Sure, let’s go.”

Osamu was trying really hard not to laugh, seeing Kita getting distracted by the smudges on Atsumu’s face.

They walked towards the direction of the Technology building, with Atsumu talking animatedly and Kita just staring at him. It’s when they were almost out of sight when Kita stopped in his tracks and gripped Atsumu’s forearm to make him stop too.

The senior raised a hand to Atsumu’s face and started to erase the smears of black on his cheek, a soft smile visible on his lips.

  
  
  


Osamu stepped out of the darkroom with a large inhale, trying to expel all the chemical fumes he just breathed in inside, his eyes adjusting slowly to the fluorescent lights and the buzz of sounds around him as students walked past. He rubbed his knuckles across his eyes while his other hand pulled out his phone from the pocket of his bag.

He glanced at his wristwatch before cursing and hurriedly turning his phone on.

He always— _always_ —shutdowns his phone whenever he’s working in the darkroom, after that one time he made a mistake and left his phone lying around and someone _called_ him while opening a film which made his phone light up. Well, needless to say that said film was destroyed, his unfixed prints are damaged, and he answered his phone while holding back tears.

His phone started vibrating as his notifications come through, almost everything is from his Instagram, where he uploads his photos and has a decent number of followers. And then there are texts from Atsumu and Tendou, his roommate.

> **santorini tenderloin:** _i baked CAKE AND LASAGNA!!!!! COME JOIN ME FOR DINNER WHEN YOU SEE THIS TEXT!!!!_

The message was sent almost three hours ago, and it’s nearing 10PM now. He hiked his bag higher on his shoulder and started to run for his dorm room.

Thirty minutes later found him sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, putting mouthful after mouthful of lasagna in his mouth while his eyes are trained on the laptop that’s playing Dying To Tell.

“I swear to god ‘Samu, whenever you shut yourself inside the darkroom it’s like you went to war and didn’t eat for forty days.” Tendou grimaced, patting Osamu’s back as he started wolfing down another portion.

“I lose track of time inside, and I can’t bring food there either,” he said, his words muffled around bits and pieces of lasagna.

“So… that’s it? You’re just not going to eat _at all?”_ Tendou asked with a raised eyebrow, confused that a person alive on this Earth is purposely choosing not to eat because of their work. He loves food more than anything in the world, so maybe he’s being a bit biased, sue him.

“Well, I’m eating now, aren’t I? It’s okay, I don’t really feel hungry when I’m working,” Osamu replied, eyes glued on the screen, rapidly going side to side as he read the subtitles.

“I don’t think that’s how proper diet works—” Tendou was saying before a knock on their door interrupted him.

 _“Hello, excuse me? Satori-san? Is ‘Samu there?”_ came Atsumu’s voice through the door.

“Oh, I forgot. Atsumu came here asking for you,” Tendou said before standing up from the couch and opening the door.

Osamu chewed his lasagna thoughtfully. He didn’t check Atsumu’s texts earlier—he was too busy inhaling Tendou’s delicious lasagna, so he doesn’t know what his brother wants from him now. He has a pretty good guess, though.

It was probably to get back the owed favor he got for introducing Osamu to Ushijima and finally being able to take the picture of the broadcasting room which he successfully printed (after hours upon hours of burning and dodging in the darkroom) and now belongs to his collection.

Osamu mentally prepared himself for whatever the fuck Atsumu wants him to do now.

His brother made his way to the couch as Osamu was putting down his plate and drinking deeply from his glass of water.

“Okay, so I know you’re a very capable photographer…” Atsumu started, making himself comfortable on the couch after scooting to the side to make room for Tendou who is now glued to his phone.

“Thank you. Please don’t say anything more…” Osamu grumbled, reaching over the table to pause the documentary he was watching on his laptop and looked properly at Atsumu.

“ _And_ I also know that you prefer to take pictures of non-humans—I mean, objects and sceneries, you know, unless it’s absolutely crucial. And I understand that it doesn’t affect the fact that you still take very good pictures of humans,” Atsumu continued as if he’s reciting a practice speech. And knowing him, he probably was—probably typed it in his notes app first and memorized it.

“Okay, what do you want?” Osamu crossed his arms and looked at Atsumu with furrowed brows. He knows they mostly trade in favors, and right now, he owes Atsumu one, so he doesn’t get why he’s still trying to soften him up.

Unless... he’s asking for really hardcore shit, like make Osamu turn himself magically straight and date his non-existent girl friend or find the cure for cancer.

“I need a photographer for a shoot… Well… my _friend_ needs one…” Atsumu said slowly, like he’s trying to soften the blow by speaking as if he’s talking to a five-year-old child.

Osamu shrugged and made a non-committal noise. “You know my deal, ‘Tsumu. It’s black and white or _nothing_.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, the shoot’s _supposed_ to be black and white anyway, that’s why I came to you,” Atsumu elaborated, eyes rolling heavenwards, _“or else I’d be asking Kita-san instead.”_

Osamu pinched his brother’s exposed calf at that. “I heard that,” he said sternly.

Atsumu yelped and soothed the skin on his calf. “What a meanie.” He pouted. “So anyway, you’ll do it, right? It’s tomorrow at one of the studios, I’ll text you.”

“Yeah, whatever. After this, I’m never asking you for anything ever again,” Osamu mumbled and stood up, bringing his empty plate and glass to their small kitchen.

“Well, I’ll go now. Sorry to bother you, Satori-san. I’ll show myself out.” He heard Atsumu say.

“Oh, it’s fine! Although… I wonder… ‘Tsumu, I didn’t know you’re close with the Tech guy that operates the broadcasting system… the quiet one…” Tendou mused, voice oozing with fake innocence.

“You mean Ushijima-san? You don’t know him?”

“No.” Tendou frowned. “Not yet, anway.”

“That’s weird…” Atsumu furrowed his eyebrows. “…he talks about you _all the time._ ”

  
  
  


Osamu didn’t allow himself to question his decision as he set up his equipment inside the studio where the photoshoot will take place.

It’s just a simple one—just a white backdrop with barely any props. He immediately thanked the gods, because for photoshoots: less is always more.

Osamu saw the rack of clothes at the corner where clothes made of black, white, and different shades of grey and his heart leapt inside his chest. There’s just _something_ about monochrome that gets to Osamu—he loves it so much.

No one was around the studio when he came in, although he suspected the artist was inside the small space in the corner of the room that is covered with a curtain partition where models can change their clothes. He heard two voices laughing—one was Atsumu and the other one was what he presumed was his friend that needed to do the photoshoot.

As he was finishing adjusting the lighting, he heard the curtain being pulled back and he turned around, planning to greet the model politely and maybe smack Atsumu upside the head—just because.

What he didn’t expect was to be speechless and suddenly struggle to inhale oxygen into his body.

The model was about his height, though he looks significantly smaller because of his narrow shoulders, he has a crown of deep black hair—messy and pointing in all directions. He’s wearing a pure white ruffled dress shirt and black wide-legged pants, and Osamu guessed that under all the frills, he’s probably slender.

What really gets him, though, is not the eyes—sharp and dark blue with long eyelashes—or the beautiful color of his skin—like the sun literally kissed him to be the perfect shade of tan.

It was the lip ring. The _goddamned lip ring;_ the thin silver band lightly pressing on plump pink lips. _That,_ with all the other elements of the guy’s beauty, is just simply breathtaking.

Osamu found himself physically incapable of words.

“Samu, this is Akaashi Keiji, my… friend?” Atsumu threw a teasing look at Akaashi, who just rolled his eyes. “And obviously also majoring in fashion design.” He introduced, gesturing between them and not noticing that Osamu was mentally screaming for help. “’Kaashi, this is Miya Osamu, he’s the meaner twin. He’s a photography major that doesn’t talk colored.”

Akaashi ignored him and just smiled at Osamu, the ring on his mouth moving in sync with the stretching of his lips. “Hi Osamu, I’ve heard so much about you…” He greeted and held out a hand. “And not from Atsumu, I swear. I’m Akaashi…”

_I wonder what that ring would feel against my—_

“ _Osamu._ I’m… uh… I’m Osamu…” the photographer breathed as he reached his hand out, his lungs rattling as he struggled to push the thoughts away from him.

He’s a professional, _goddamn it._ Maybe not a real professional—yet—but he works like that. And he’s not going to forget that just because he got curious over the taste of metal on his tongue.

“Hello Osamu… it’s nice to meet you…” Akaashi said with the same air of politeness as they shook hands—Akaashi’s long fingers wrapping around his hand.

“The pleasure’s all mine…” Osamu replied, grasping at the thin string of sanity left in him. He was looking at Akaashi when a small part of his brain suddenly snapped in place. “Have we met before?” he asked, still slowly shaking Akaashi’s hand.

Akaashi just gave him a small smile, turned his head to the side. “I don’t know… have we?”

Osamu squinted at him suspiciously. “No… I don’t think so…” he said, though his instinct says otherwise. He didn’t want him to think he’s some creep.

They squeezed each other’s hands one last time before Osamu regretfully took back his hands and raised it to run his fingers through his hair.

Akaashi’s eyes followed the movement, swallowing thickly as the soft strands of hair settled back down against Osamu’s forehead.

“So now that the introduction’s all settled, I’ll leave the both of you now to get the work done because I have a photoshoot of my own…” Atsumu interrupted, completely oblivious, and reached up to pat them both on the shoulder.

Akaashi furrowed his eyebrows at his friend. “Aren’t you already done for this assignment?” He asked, confusion clouding his expression and making his lips form into a soft pout that in turn made his lip ring glide across his lips.

“Yeah, _ages_ ago.” Atsumu rolled his eyes and waved his hand. “Kita-san needs help so I’m modelling for him…” Atsumu clarified, already walking backwards away from them.

“Okay.” Akaashi nodded and turned to Osamu as Atsumu shut the door behind him and they were left completely alone. It was a simple and straightforward shoot—so no other help was needed other than the photographer—Akaashi just needed to model the pieces he designed for their Autumn collection.

“So, let’s start?” Akaashi asked, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pants.

“Sure, are you all set?” Osamu said, looking straight down his camera as he fiddled with the settings, knowing full well that if he looks at the model again, his mind will have another mental breakdown.

“Yes, okay…” Akaashi breathed. “Where do you want me?” He nibbled on his bottom lip, just beside the lip ring. Osamu looked up, started by his words and became even more started by his nervous mannerism. _Akaashi Keiji was gonna be the death of him._

“O-Oh… there… you can start there…” Osamu answered, flustered beyond belief as he pointed at the space he created in front of the lightings. Akaashi walked there right away—stretching his neck and breathing evenly.

Osamu took his place in front of him—behind the lights and among the wires. “No need to be nervous, Akaashi, I think you’ll do amazing,” he mumbled, raising his camera to his eyes and testing a shot.

Even unprepared, Akaashi was so fucking beautiful—looking directly at the camera with his face neutral.

Osamu swallowed thickly. _This is going to be a long shoot._

  
  
  


Akaashi was a natural—every movement he made was calculated to work for the benefit of his pose. And when Osamu thought he’d be instructing poses after poses, telling him to _be natural_ and _relax_ , like he did for previous models that he worked with randomly, he found himself mumbling praises instead.

_“That’s good, Akaashi…” “Very good, hold that for me…” “Good idea.” “Beautiful, Akaashi…”_

_“Perfect…”_

He didn’t think about it too much. He’s used to it—like a second nature—to speak his thoughts out loud during a photoshoot. It’s beneficial to both sides, as Akaashi became more in tune with what to do to position for the perfect poses.

An hour later, after the fourth outfit, Osamu decided to take a break and look at the pictures they got so far.

“How many outfits do you have left?” Osamu asked as he took a bite out of the club sandwich that Tendou packed for him.

“Five left,” Akaashi answered, words muffled by a mouthful of hamburger.

Osamu nodded and scrolled through the black and white photos on the monitor, humming in satisfaction at the quality. “Do you often participate in photoshoots?” he found himself asking.

“Me? Not really.” Akaashi shook his head. “Just when we have assignments like these, why?”

“You’re good at modelling,” Osamu blurted out.

Akaashi’s eyes widened, surprised at the sudden compliment, then he chuckled and shook his head. “It’s probably the clothes,” he said, smiling at Osamu, “I make awesome clothes.”

Osamu’s lips quirked a bit, opting to not contradict him. In his opinion, though, Akaashi would still look good without his “awesome clothes”. He’s good at displaying emotions through his body, which made Osamu vaguely wonder what it would be like to take close up pictures of Akaashi’s beautiful face, since he’s forced to take full body shots for the outfits.

“I’ll go get changed and retouch a bit so we can continue, that alright?” Akaashi stood up, brushing bread crumbs off his current outfit—a simple white oversized long-sleeved shirt that hangs loose on his frame, making his collarbone peek out, and a black ankle skirt with swirls of white all over.

Osamu nodded and Akaashi headed to the changing area while he continued to scroll over the pictures on his laptop. Suddenly, a certain one caught his attention. He zoomed in a bit and looked closer at the monitor.

It was Akaashi’s side profile, his body turned to the right, his hands raised together as his lips touched both of his wrists, his eyes turned to the ceiling.

How is he this _goddamned_ beautiful? Oh, what he’ll _pay_ to shoot close ups of Akaashi Keiji.

As the model emerged again from the dressing area, they resumed their work, only taking breaks to stretch their bodies and gulp down some water.

Two more hours passed and they were finished. Akaashi was done packing up his pieces and the few makeups he used and was now helping Osamu pack up the equipment he bought and return the things he borrowed from the studio.

“I follow your Instagram, you know,” Akaashi blurted out as he was packing up the extensions they used.

Osamu stopped in his tracks, heart skipping a bit, but he quickly recovered and continued disassembling the lights. “Really? So you really did hear a lot about me, and thankfully not from Atsumu.”

“You’re pretty famous in our department,” Akaashi said, looking at him briefly and smiling, “I mean, you know we’re generally together in the institute of visual arts, but our departments are specifically close. With all the photoshoots we constantly need and you all needing models. We kinda like… need each other,” he explained, coiling the wires around his arms.

“So as I was saying, you’re pretty famous in our department.”

Osamu furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Akaashi smirked. “We’ve all heard about the photography student who only takes pictures in black and white. We’ve also heard that you like film cameras better than digital ones. Is it true?” He thought it’d be wiser to omit that they’ve also heard how _handsome_ that photography student was.

Osamu raised an eyebrow—he wasn’t aware he’s a topic of gossip among the fashion design students. He just shrugged his shoulders and gave a non-committal grunt. “It’s true, the satisfaction level is higher when I take pictures via film and print them myself in the darkroom than just editing on a computer and hoping the printer will be a good one,” he said, putting the tripods inside their cases. “Although, of course, I completely understand why most photographers prefer to do that.”

Akaashi nodded in understanding as he started to work on another cord extension. “How did you manage to convince your professors, though? Surely at some point you need to work with colors, right? I know there are things about saturations, and temperature, and shit. How can you do all that with black and white?”

Osamu smiled a little, it was the first time someone asked him this. It has always been the same old _“Why do you like black and white so much?”_ and _“Don’t you get bored?”_ , he couldn’t remember someone asking him a question that seemed like genuine interest.

“I don’t know if I’m just lucky so far, I don’t know… I just talk to them and convince them that I _can_ do all of that in black and white. _And more._ ” He smirked, thinking about all the times he aced an activity with his pieces. “There are so many hues of grey you know? And I tell them I can show them every single one with the perfect photo. So they just shrug and let me be. They said as long as I show the element and do the activity, then they find nothing wrong with it.”

Akaashi nodded again and licked his lips, the ring glistening as it wets with his spit.

“To be honest, though?” Osamu continued, and Akaashi turned to look at him, eyebrows raising as he urged the photographer to continue, “I think they’re just curious about how much longer I can manage to take photos in monochrome.”

Akaashi shook his head and chuckled, eyes crinkling at the sides. “And the answer to that is?”

Osamu shrugged. “All my life.”

  
  
  


Later that night, Osamu found himself sitting in front of a computer, scanning the pictures he took earlier that day and deleting anything that is less than perfect as an attempt to narrow down his choices. Akaashi said he only needed two photos of each outfit—which makes a total of eighteen pictures.

Osamu groaned in frustration as he tried to think of a way to narrow down the five hundred and forty-six photos he currently has.

He was leaning on the back of the chair when the computer let out an odd ping so he straightened up, looking at the monitor for signs of change. He found none. He nudged the mouse a little. The cursor didn’t move.

Osamu let out a curse under his breath as he shook the mouse aggressively and tried to press a few random keys on the keyboard.

Nothing.

Oh my _god_ , this is _not_ happening right now. Akaashi was already running short of time and the last thing he needed was for the goddamned computer to malfunction and corrupt all of the photos. He tried moving the mouse again, hand shaking with nervous energy. Still nothing.

Osamu was close to tears, clicking desperately everywhere when the screen suddenly turned black.

Literally nothing.

Black screen.

No photos.

Osamu’s heart stopped beating inside his chest.

Half a second later, it turned back on.

Osamu expected a lot of things to appear, but _this_ didn’t even cross his mind.

All of the pictures were in full color—and a quick look told Osamu that he accidentally clicked the button that reverts the photos in color instead of black and white.

He scrolled up to the very top, and he saw the first picture he took of Akaashi. The one of his face, staring at the camera with no expression, his lips slightly parted.

Osamu put a hand over his palpitating heart to calm it down. He guided the cursor to zoom in on the picture. Suddenly, the mouse was working well, everything was perfect, like the little hitch didn’t happen.

Fuck technology.

He clicked on the image and it magnifies, now occupying the whole screen.

Osamu gasped as he found Akaashi looking back at him in all his glory; the background was still white, his clothes still in monochrome, his hair looked a little livelier, but instead of a shade of grey, his skin is the rich color of bronze, his eyes a dark blue-green—with a slight gold shimmer on his eyelids—and his lips a pretty saturated pink, with the lip ring gleaming silver.

As he clicked for the next picture and found it in the same state, Osamu knew he was fucked.

  
  


“I may have a _little bit_ of a problem…” Osamu breathed on his phone, walking back and forth in front of the computer inside the now empty computer lab.

 _“’Samu? What is it?”_ Atsumu asked on the other line.

“Akaashi’s pictures. That’s my problem.” Osamu started biting on his thumbnail, and stopped his pacing to stare at the monitor, now displaying a full-paged scale of that one close-up picture. It was still in full color because he couldn’t bring himself to press the button again that will turn it black and white.

_“What? Why? What happened?”_

“I feel like I just fucked up… I’m having an existential crisis,” Osamu said, his words hurried and his voice taking on a high pitch.

 _“I_ thought _you told me that as long as it’s black and white you’ll have no problem?”_ Atsumu asked, now genuinely confused, and even through the phone, Osamu could feel him furrowing his thick eyebrows.

“Yes, about that…” Osamu started pacing again and he clenched his fists tightly. “I’m not sure I can.”

_“What do you mean? You’re not making much sense here, ‘Samu.”_

Osamu let out a heavy breath. “Akaashi’s pictures, I can’t turn them to black and white.”

_“What the fuck? What do you mean? Of course you can.”_

“No, ‘Tsumu, you don’t understand. _I can’t._ ” Osamu was getting agitated, Atsumu could tell. His voice was getting higher, beads of sweat dripping down his temple as he tried to avoid looking at the computer monitor displaying Akaashi Keiji.

 _“The fuck do you mean you can’t? It’s easy, you just slap a filter on it and then_ boom, _it’s black and white. You should know, ‘Samu, you’ve been doing it for literally your whole life,”_ Atsumu said, confused at why his twin is being like this, of all times.

“No, no, I can’t…” Osamu whined, he’s _this_ close to just rage-quitting, the only thing stopping him is the nagging question in his mind that keeps on repeating: _‘Why the fuck not?’_ Because, really, why the fuck not, right? Atsumu’s correct, he’s been doing it all his life.

It’s the _only_ thing he does.

But suddenly, right now, after seeing Akaashi in full color, he just _can’t._

The button is literally right _there_ , just one click away. It will erase all of his problems, that’s how easy it is. But he _can’t._

Osamu sighed. “Where are you?”

_“In my dorm room, why?”_

“Can you come here? I’ll show you, so you’ll understand.” Osamu bit his lip as he chanced a glance towards the monitor again. _It’s still there._

 _“Miya Osamu, what the fuck, do you even know what time it is? It’s midnight, ‘Samu,_ midnight. _Can’t you just show it to me tomorrow?”_

“No, I can’t. I’m supposed to be giving it to Akaashi tomorrow.”

_“Ugh, why wasn’t I born an only child? Which lab are you in?”_

  
  


“I don’t see a fucking problem with this, what do you mean?” Atsumu scowled, his hands on his hips. He’s wearing his bedtime sweats and T-shirt.

“’Tsumu, _I can’t turn it to black and white,”_ Osamu cried, his arm thrown on top of his eyes as he whined. It was unusual for him to be like this, he was usually the more composed one between the twins. But Atsumu still doesn’t get why he’s being like this.

He clucked his tongue and faced the computer and took a hold of the mouse, he clicked the button that switches it to black and white. “See, problem solved. Now, go to sleep.” He turned around and was about to leave when Osamu grabbed his arm.

“No, look…” Osamu urged. He clicked the same button again for it to return to full color. “What I meant when I said I can’t… it’s…”

Atsumu stood beside him, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently as he waited for him to continue. Osamu breathed heavily and sighed. “He’s _beautiful, ‘_ Tsumu. He’s fucking ethereal like this. I can’t—I can’t bring myself to make him black and white and just shades of grey. He deserves to be in full color. I just—I don’t know! I thought everything— _everything_ looks better in black and white… but him… it’s different…”

He raised his eyes to look up at Atsumu, gouging his reaction. His mouth was wide open and he’s looking down at him incredulously.

“’Samu? I didn’t know you were a hopeless romantic? I didn’t know you were into cliché shit?” Atsumu laughed into his hand, careful not to be too loud lest the person on duty in the computer lab kick him out. “Oh god, ‘Samu… I can’t believe it… _‘He deserves to be in full color’?”_

Osamu just scowled and rubbed his face with his palms frustratedly. This was so out of character, he’d never felt anything like this, this was completely new territory.

Atsumu would still not stop giggling into his hand. “I never expected I’d have to walk through campus at midnight just for you to tell me that you’re in love with my friend.” He broke into giggles again, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

Osamu’s eyes opened wide. “Oh my god…” He let out a whimper. “Oh… _oh my god_ , I’m in love with Akaashi Keiji?” He groaned and slammed his forehead against the counter, whimpering like a wounded dog.

When Atsumu recovered from his giggles, he patted Osamu at the back. “’Samu… look… just, pick out some pictures, make it black and white, give it to Akaashi so he can pass it on time, ask him out, and then live happily ever after.”

Osamu just groaned again, sitting up straight. “’Samu, I really can’t…” He looked at his screen, saw the now-familiar hue of Akaashi’s eyes and skin tone. “My heart can’t bear to see him in black and white, much less pick just eighteen pictures. How do you expect me to do that? That’s impossible, it’s something my artist heart can’t do.”

Atsumu just rolled his eyes, although he was lowkey enjoying Osamu in a crisis. He couldn’t believe he got to witness Osamu so lovesick. “’Samu I thought you prided yourself in being professional? Just so you know, this is _not_ professional.”

Osamu looked up at his brother, then he reached for the hem of his shirt. “’Tsumu… help me…”

“Why should _I_ fix your mess?” Atsumu crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Atsumu onii-chan…”

Atsumu’s ears perked up. It’s been a long time since Osamu called him onii-chan. “What’s that? I didn’t hear.”

Osamu gritted his teeth, but he forced himself to smile. “Onii-chan, please help me…”

Atsumu puffed up his chest, hitting it with his fist with a proud smile on his face. “As your older brother, I shall help you…”

“ _Only by seven minutes…”_ Osamu whispered.

“What was that?” Atsumu raised an eyebrow.

Atsumu squinted at him suspiciously, but he eventually ignored it and pushed Osamu’s chair away from the computer. “Whatever, you’ll be mortified anyway when you get your senses back.” He pulled a chair for himself and clicked furiously on the computer.

Osamu stared at the ceiling—he couldn’t bear to look at Atsumu while he worked with Akaashi’s black and white pictures.

After a few minutes, Atsumu stood up, holding a small metal flash drive in his fingers—Akaashi’s flash drive. “I got it. I’ll give this to Akaashi. I kept the others untouched—in _full color_ —and moved it all to your hard drive. Now can you just go to sleep?” Atsumu said, he’s exhausted and sleepy—he had his own photoshoot earlier in the day for Kita—he couldn’t even bring himself to tease Osamu more for his sudden realization.

Osamu just nodded and sighed.

  
  
  


“Do you wanna give Akaashi his flash drive yourself?” Atsumu asked, offering the metal flash drive to his twin.

“I can’t,” Osamu answered right away, taking his bag and camera in hand. “Tell me what he says, okay?”

“You have courage to ask Aran for his number but you can’t give Akaashi his flash drive?”

“Fuck you.” Osamu just put up his middle finger, then immediately put it down again.

Atsumu just rolled his eyes and shooed Osamu away, leaning against the wall of the hallway to wait for Akaashi’s classes to finish. Osamu chanced a glance at the small window at the door, hoping he could get a glimpse at the fashion design student, to no avail, then he exited the building to go to his own class.

A few minutes later, the students started filing out, and Atsumu strained on his tiptoes to look for a certain messy hair. “Akaashi!” he called, when he saw him walking in the opposite direction.

Akaashi turned at the sound of his name being called, smiling a little and waving at Atsumu.

“Hey, Atsumu, what’s up?” Akaashi greeted, walking together with Atsumu to the direction of his next class.

“Oh, I just needed to give you this.” Atsumu opened his palm, the small silver flash drive sitting on his hand.

Akaashi’s face fell a little bit, before smiling again and picking up the flash drive, putting it in his pocket. “Oh, thanks…” he said. “Does Osamu… have class?”

“Hmmm…” Atsumu frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “Probably. But the reason I’m the one giving you the flash drive was because he wasn’t too satisfied with the finished product and couldn’t bear to face you.” _He wasn’t satisfied in picking just eighteen photos,_ he continued in his mind.

Akaashi’s face contorted in dismay as Atsumu laughed, recollecting what happened last night. “What… are my photos bad?” Akaashi thought they were doing good yesterday.

Atsumu just laughed some more, completely unaware of Akaashi’s disappointment. “Oh, if you just saw him last night…” He snickered into his hand. “He was breaking down while browsing through your photos…”

“Oh…” Akaashi looked down at his feet. Maybe Osamu’s standards in models are just too high and he wasn’t on par with it? _But he praised me a lot yesterday._ Are those just out of politeness? “I see…”

“I even _had to_ help him pick out the pictures, my god, he’s so dumb.” Atsumu shook his head and clucked his tongue, remembering Osamu saying something about how Akaashi deserved to be in full color.

Akaashi clenched his jaw, his mouth in a thin line, just as Atsumu looked over at him.

“Oh, but don’t mind him. I’m also surprised that he’s being like this, he’s usually… very apathetic with his shoots, but this particular one just got him riled up…” Atsumu said.

“Maybe it was because of me,” Akaashi said, letting out an empty laugh.

Atsumu snorted again. “Oh, it was _definitely_ because of you.”

Akaashi looked like the entire world just dropped on his shoulder. _Is Atsumu saying he’s not a good model?_

“I think my brother just short-circuits whenever he sees someone too pretty…”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “Is _the_ Miya Atsumu saying I’m pretty?” He knew Atsumu seldom praises other people aside from himself.

Atsumu smirked and winked at Akaashi. “As my friend, _yes_ you get that privilege.”

Akaashi breathed out a laugh and shook his head, momentarily forgetting about his disappointment regarding his shoot with the other Miya. 

“Ah, this is my stop…” Akaashi stopped walking, pointing to the building on their right where his next class is located.

“Oh, alright.” Atsumu nodded and pulled Akaashi in a one-armed hug. “Goodluck.”

  
  


“So, what did he say?” Osamu asked, pacing back and forth outside the door of his darkroom. He couldn’t bear to wait until he finished his ongoing work to ask so he slipped out of the room to call his brother.

 _“Well… he said thanks…”_ Atsumu said on the other line.

Osamu growled at the phone, fingers fidgeting with each other. “Aside from that. Did he mention anything about me?”

_“What, do you expect that he’d say anything?”_

“You didn’t tell him about what happened last night, right?”

The silence that followed was enough for Osamu to curse his brother under his breath. “Atsumu I will _kill_ you if you did.”

His twin just chuckled in the other line. “ _No, I didn’t, calm down. But if you really want to know, I think he thought you were a little dumb…”_

“Oh god, did you say anything stupid again?”

_“Hey! I was very vague, mind your words.”_

Osamu ran his fingers through his hair, the dark strands turning into a mess before settling back down. “I don’t trust you.”

_“Then don’t. I gotta go, I’m gonna get coffee with Kita-san.”_

Before Osamu could answer, Atsumu had already hung up.

_Fuck. He really doesn’t trust Atsumu._

  
  
  


Osamu’s face was illuminated by the red safelight, his pupils were blown wide behind his safety glasses as he rinsed his print in running water. When he was satisfied, he clipped the paper to the clothesline near the wall of the darkroom so it could dry. 

He looked in satisfaction at the multiple prints hanging, then removed his latex gloves to unclip the dried prints, then opened the drawer where he kept his finished prints, taking out the stack at the corner.

He took his safety glasses and mask off, took his phone from the counter, then with one last look around the room, turned off his safe lights and opened the inner door, locking it behind his back before opening the outer door and getting outside.

With the stack of his fresh prints in one hand, he walked to the nearest bench—the one overlooking the quadrangle where a few students loitered.

He turned his phone on while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, stretching his tensed body and inhaling air into his lungs. Then he looked down.

In his hands were some of Akaashi’s photos, which he converted into negatives so he could work with it in the darkroom. Admittedly, he was a little out of practice in processing colored prints, he clucked his tongue at the first ones he tried—the print was foggy, Akaashi’s skin looking milky. But after a few tries, he got the hang of it again.

He flipped through the next photos, satisfied with his work in capturing and printing Akaashi.

Two weeks had passed since the photoshoot, he didn’t have any more interactions with the fashion design student, and he continued to hole himself inside the darkroom to practice printing coloreds (even though he’s sure Akaashi’s photos will be the only thing he’d be printing).

His mind had been consumed entirely by Akaashi Keiji—dreams filled with blue-green eyes and silver lip rings. He wondered why he’s being like this—being like this _because_ of Akaashi. It’s not like he’s never seen a pretty face before, he’s worked with a lot of people prettier than Akaashi—who had perfect proportions and complexions.

Akaashi wasn’t like that. He was soft and rough at the same time, his body moved like water, fluid and loose. But then there’s the messy hair and the _goddamned_ lip ring.

Osamu’s thoughts were interrupted when his phone vibrated on his lap. It’s an email from his Lightning Techniques professor:

> **From: Makoto Shimada** _mshimada@haikyuumail.com_
> 
> **Subject: Assessment #5_PTG203**
> 
> After our lesson last week about back lights, for our fifth assessment, pass AT LEAST three photos that show how you may use back lighting. Upload it in the class google drive at 11:59PM before our next meeting.
> 
> Looking forward to seeing you all.

Back lighting, huh. That’s easy enough, he already knows the perfect location to have a shoot, though it would be easier to have a live subject.

As if on auto-pilot, he tapped into his messages and pulled up his conversation with his brother.

> **_Osamu:_ ** _need u to model for me for an assessment._
> 
> **_Atsumu:_ ** _when?_
> 
> **_Osamu:_ ** _sometime before wednesday next week_
> 
> **_Atsumu:_ ** _can’t : < working on a project for fashion merchandising _

Osamu cursed under his breath, Atsumu really was the easiest option. And as much as Osamu hated to admit it, he really was a good model. _Probably why Kita-san’s so smitten._

He sighed as he typed a reply.

> **_Osamu:_ ** _u owe me for the akaashi photoshoot_
> 
> **_Atsumu:_ ** _…_

Osamu’s eyes flitted to the stack of Akaashi’s photos on his thighs, at the few that have been filtered perfectly. _He’s so beautiful._

Suddenly, he was gripped with a brilliant idea.

> **_Osamu:_ ** _can u ask akaashi to model for me?_
> 
> **_Atsumu:_ ** _i hope you know you are disgustingly whipped_

Osamu just rolled his eyes upon reading his brother’s reply.

> **_Osamu:_ ** _come on, if it’s akaashi then it’s a 10 for me_
> 
> **_Atsumu:_ ** _rEALLY???? A 10??? SO I CAN ASK YOU TO MODEL FOR ME ON MY NEXT COLLECTION THEN??? THAT’S A 10 FOR ME_

Osamu wiped a hand across his face, wondering why Atsumu had to be such a huge pain in the ass. He’d been bugging him to do that—said that he couldn’t trust anyone else modelling his pieces so why not get a carbon copy of himself to do it with him?

But Osamu really preferred to work _behind_ the camera instead of in front of it, so he had refused for the longest time.

He took a deep breath, making his decision.

> **_Osamu:_ ** _okay, fine. IF u could get him to model for me_
> 
> **_Atsumu:_ ** _leave it to me ;)_
> 
> **_Osamu:_ ** _never use that smiley while messaging me ever again, gross._

  
  
  


Osamu peeked at the viewfinder, capturing a shot of the swaying sunflowers on the field. He turned his camera around, which suddenly came into contact with a figure. He adjusted the focus, and there he was.

Standing in front of him was Akaashi Keiji, wearing a loose white sweater two sizes too big and black skinny jeans. He had his arms at his side, and he was looking directly at the camera.

Osamu pressed the shutter before putting his camera down and smiling at Akaashi.

“Hey…”

It took Akaashi a second to register, then, “Hey…”

“Thanks for accepting… I owe you a lot…” 

Akaashi walked closer to him, the golden glow of the sun bathing his skin and making it glitter. He was wearing a simple necklace, stud earrings, and that goddamned lip ring.

“It was no problem, you also helped me a lot with that photoshoot…” Akaashi turned his head to look at the setting sun. “Besides, I’m the one surprised you’d want to work with me again…”

Osamu’s eyebrows furrowed, snapping in attention from looking at the glimmer on Akaashi’s cheekbones. _He’s wearing makeup, isn’t he? Fuck, he’s too beautiful._

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked.

Akaashi shrugged his shoulders, tried to appear nonchalant, like he hadn’t been overthinking it for the past two weeks. “You weren’t satisfied with the last shoot, were you?”

_What?!_

“Wait—hang on… why do you think that?” Osamu asked, brain going off at the thought of Akaashi thinking he didn’t like their shoot. “Is it Atsumu? He said something weird didn’t he?”

Akaashi turned to look at Osamu, raising an eyebrow. “I kinda got the gist that you got frustrated post-processing the photos…”

_Because you were too beautiful?!_

Osamu sighed, shaking his head. He’s going to kill Atsumu, really. “Whatever my stupid twin told you, don’t mind it. I really liked that shoot—did you even see the photos? You were good, you were beautiful—actually, _too_ beautiful…”

Akaashi giggled, shaking his head, letting out a breath he’d been unconsciously holding since that time Atsumu said that Osamu was disappointed with him. “Alright, I get it…”

“I’m serious, Akaashi… You’re beautiful, and you make beautiful clothes…” Osamu said, face suddenly all serious as he looked Akaashi in the eye.

Akaashi just smiled softly and looked at him, blush creeping up his cheeks. “Still full support for me, huh… _after all these years…_ ”

Osamu cocked his head in confusion. What does he mean by that? 

“Huh?”

Akaashi just bit his lip and shook his head, suddenly stretching his arms out. “Nothing. Let’s start? Or we wouldn’t have much light left. Where do you want me?”

The photographer shook his head, _he was probably joking, right?_

“Here… just stand around here, I’ll do the rest…”

So Akaashi stepped into the field, among the tall sunflowers, hands lifting to his sides as he trailed a finger gently on the petals. Osamu placed the camera in front of his face, fiddling with the zoom and focus.

“That’s good, Akaashi…”

Akaashi tilts his head to the side, the light catching the bridge of his nose and the point of his chin, casting everything in shadows. At the sound of the shutter, he lets himself smile a bit.

  
  


“Have you taken what you need?” Akaashi asked, walking towards Osamu as the last embers of the sun died on the horizon. They’ve been working in silence, save for Osamu muttering his approval and adjustments.

Osamu was clicking on his camera, browsing the photos he took, a satisfied look on his face growing with every _Next_ at the camera. He hummed, sending Akaashi a look before turning the camera to let him peek.

On the screen was Akaashi, hands gracefully stretched out on both sides, face slightly turned up to the sky. Something about the photo tugged at Osamu’s chest—the warm glow of the sun behind Akaashi, casting him in shadow, the loose composition of his body, making it look like he was floating in the air.

Akaashi smiled as he looked at the photo, then looked back at Osamu’s face. He sucked at his bottom lip, tongue playing with the piercing. 

Now that he knows Osamu doesn’t hate him, maybe… maybe…

“Hey, do you want to get dinner with me?”

Osamu looked at him, cradling the camera closer into his chest, eyes wide as he looked at Akaashi, gauging whether he’s serious. Akaashi just looked back at him, heart silent as he held his breath, _please say yes please say yes…_

Osamu smiled, then nodded, and though all around them the world plunged into darkness, Akaashi swore that smile just brought light back into his world.

  
  


They ended up going through a drive thru at McDonalds and eating in the car, something about the place being crowded and Akaashi needing to be back at the dorms to work on an essay. So they bought their food, drove back into the university, and parked just outside. There was a jut of a cliff hidden in a small patch of trees just at the edge of the main entrance, something Osamu found out when he stumbled upon it during his first year, searching for an interesting place to take a picture of. It’s been his secret place ever since, a place where he could just stare into the sprawling city below and the slight twinkle of stars above.

They rolled the windows down, letting the chilly breeze waft inside the car.

“So, do you have a solo dorm?” Osamu asked, biting into his burger.

Akaashi popped a fry in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “No… I have a roommate…”

“Really? Who?”

“Ushijima Wakatoshi? I don’t know if you know him…”

Osamu coughed, a piece of burger lodging itself in his windpipe. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” Akaashi asked, eyes wide as he patted Osamu’s back as he coughed. 

Osamu coughed a few more times before swallowing and letting out a breath… “Oh god… sorry…”

Akaashi laughed, wiped the tear forming at the side of Osamu’s eye and ruffled his hair. “Are you okay?”

Osamu froze on his seat, almost squishing the burger in his hands as he felt the ghost of Akaashi’s touch on his eye and his scalp.

“Uhmmm…” he tried. “I… yeah… I know him—Ushijima Wakatoshi, I mean.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, adjusting himself on the shotgun seat, turning his body fully towards Osamu, hiking his left leg onto the seat with his take-out salad and fries on top.

“How?”

“Ahhh… asked him for a favor once… and I think he’s dating my roommate…”

Akaashi furrowed his eyebrows, imagining his quiet roommate dating someone. And then a flash of memories—Ushijima mentioning someone by name, something about not going back for the night.

“Your roommate’s Tendou-san?” 

Osamu’s mouth opened in surprise. “How did you know?”

“I remember Wakatoshi mentioning him, I think…”

Osamu nodded, taking another bite of his burger and looking out of the windshield and into the view beyond.

They stayed in silence, Akaashi leaning his head against the headrest, looking at Osamu while chewing his salad. Eyes trailing to the dark hair peeking out of the black baseball cap, his droopy eyes and sharp jawline.

He wondered how he ever mistaken the twins before, he must’ve been so blind.

“Don’t you remember me, ‘Samu?” Akaashi whispered into the dark.

Osamu’s head snapped to his direction, eyebrows furrowed, looked at Akaashi who was staring back at him, oddly looking small as he slouched on the seat, the neckline of his big sweater pulled to the side.

“Remember you from what?” he asked.

Akaashi smiled and bit on his lip, his smile widening as he saw Osamu follow the movement.

“Hmmm… I think it was… thirteen years ago?” That made Osamu’s eyebrow raise, mind immediately backtracking to thirteen years ago. That means he was… nine years old. The same age he got into photography. “I went to Hyogo for vacation…”

Akaashi took a deep breath, he’d looked for him for so long, and now that he’s here, now that he’s telling him the _one_ memory he held dear in his heart… he didn’t know what to feel. His heart was silent and loud at the same time, his chest felt hollow but there was a beating in his ears that he couldn’t tune out.

Osamu was in front of him, burger forgotten in his hands as he held his breath, looking straight at Akaashi. His mind was working in overdrive, filtering through memories, searching for the one he shared with this beautiful man thirteen years ago.

“I went to the park, and I was wearing a skirt… I was proud of that skirt, because it was the first one I made. I mean, granted it’s just a swath of cloth but still, it was my skirt…” Akaashi laughed a little.

Osamu squinted, a foggy memory coming at the forefront of his mind, triggered by Akaashi’s telling.

“But then some of the kids at the park laughed at me… said my skirt was ugly and I wasn’t supposed to wear a skirt because I’m a boy…”

“Akaashi…”

“And then someone… a little kid with a camera in his hands, defended me from the bullies… it’s so cliche isn’t it? A knight in shining armor…” he chuckled.

Osamu looked at the back of the car, where his camera bag was sitting inconspicuously. 

“That was you… you told them, ‘You’re just jealous because you’re not as pretty as him and you don’t have pretty skirts!’ and then you waved your fists at them…” Akaashi said, imitating nine-year-old Osamu waving off the bullies. “So they left me alone, and you told me your name was Samu, and you made me stop crying, you took a photo of me with your camera, though I think it was just a toy...”

Osamu snapped in attention, eyes widening again. He straightened up on his seat, wrapping the burger up and dumping it on the console, then he lifted his butt up the seat, fishing something out of his back pocket.

“Samu?”

“Hang on… I remember something…” Osamu settled on the seat again, his wallet in his hands.

Akaashi straightened up then, setting his salad aside on the dashboard and looking expectantly at Osamu.

Osamu swallowed, heart beating fast against his ribcage. He remembered now…

Remembered those blissful days after he had his hands on a camera for the first time, he remembered Atsumu crying and being angry with him for a week because he didn’t take Atsumu to the park with him. 

He remembered meeting a boy just his age, though he was significantly smaller then, wearing a white shirt and a hot pink skirt that, admittedly, looked atrocious, but he also remembered the look on the boy’s face, how happy he seemed holding the skirt up so he could walk.

He remembered taking a picture of the boy in his grandfather’s old camera. 

Osamu flipped his wallet open, reaching into the clear pocket to take out a thin stack of old photos. It was faded and worn around the edges, Osamu handled them like they would disappear any moment.

The topmost one was a picture of a woman, who probably looked beautiful if the photo wasn’t so blurry and out of focus. Akaashi didn’t see the others, because Osamu took the one at the back, putting it in front and showing Akaashi.

It was a little boy, standing in front of the rose bushes at the park, hands in fists at his side clutching a handful of skirt. The photo was black and white, but they both know that it was hot pink.

“You kept it…” Akaashi said, voice thick with emotion, at seeing the photo of him. Still here, still with Osamu.

“I told you I’ll find you again…” Osamu whispered, looking at Akaashi.

“But I’m the one who found you…”

Akaashi looked back earlier that year, his first day at one of his major classes, when he saw someone who looked like the boy he met thirteen years ago. He sat beside him, expecting the man to recognize him just as he did. But he didn’t.

When he found out Miya Atsumu has a twin brother in the photography department, they’ve been friends for half the semester already. And he’s been thinking of how to meet the said twin since then.

Osamu smiled, looked at the picture fondly, and then back at Akaashi, with his pretty face and his goddamned lip ring.

“Yeah… you’re the one who found me…”

  
  
  


_“Hey, you, why are you wearing a skirt?”_

_“Yeah, don’t you know only girls wear skirts?”_

_Keiji frowned, tightened his fist holding his skirt. “Who told you that? It’s just clothes, anyone can wear them.”_

_“No!” One of the boys said, taking a step closer at Keiji, who instinctively stepped back. “Boys wear pants! Girls wear skirts!”_

_“He’s right! And you’re weird wearing a pink skirt because you’re not a girl!”_

_Keiji’s lips quivered, and he looked down on the pavement, toeing the ground with his sandals._

_“Oi!” Four heads looked up to the direction of the voice, a boy in a tank top and shorts, with an old film camera in his hands._

_“You’re just jealous because you’re not as pretty as him and you don’t have pretty skirts!” the boy said, eyebrows furrowed._

_“Why would I want a skirt? It’s ugly!”_

_The boy’s frown deepened, and his cheeks tinted pink in anger as he stomped to their direction, standing between the bullies and Keiji. He put a fist up threateningly. “Leave him alone or I’ll punch you!”_

_One of the bullies looked curiously at him. “Yeah, but there’s three of us.”_

_The boy just raised his chin proudly. “But I have a black belt in Taekwondo, I can beat ten of you!”_

_The bullies’ eyes widened, and thankfully didn’t want to confirm if what he said was true and just ran away._

_The boy turned when he heard a sniffle behind him, and he saw drops of tears darkening the hot pink skirt._

_“Hey… why are you crying? My name’s Samu, the bullies are gone now.”_

_Keiji looked up, eyes shiny with tears and his nose reddening. “Is my_ — _my skirt really ugly?” he asked with a small voice, shoulders drooping._

_Samu reached for his face, wiping the boy’s tears away and lifting his face up. “I think it’s cute… here, let me take a picture of you in front of the flowers!” He took Keiji’s hand, pulling him to the bushes._

_“Is it true that you know taekwondo?” Keiji asked, his voice was still shaky but he stopped crying._

_Samu smirked and looked at Keiji mischievously. “No, I plan to, but no, not yet… Here, stand here…” He took a few steps back, leaving Keiji in front of the bushes._

_“What do I do?”_

_“Nothing, just stand there, smile maybe?”_

_Keiji smiled, and before he knew it, the camera flashed and it was over._

_“How will I see the picture?” Keiji asked._

_Samu hummed in thought, then smiled widely. “Don’t worry! I’ll find you again and I’ll show it to you!”_

  
  
  


“What’s going on… why are you two…” Atsumu gestured between Osamu and Akaashi vaguely, looking strangely at them like he just saw two aliens instead of his brother and friend cuddling on the couch.

Akaashi just snuggled deeper into Osamu’s neck, sitting on his lap on the sofa in his dorm room. Osamu smiled, pulling the sleeping Akaashi by the waist closer to him.

“Why are you here? Go away.” Osamu glared at his brother, holding Akaashi protectively like Atsumu’s going to steal him away.

“What the hell happened?” Atsumu whispered, insistent.

It’s been a few days since Osamu and Akaashi started dating, and maybe it was Osamu’s fault that he forgot to inform Atsumu about their progress, but of course he’s not going to admit that.

“Did you know that Akaashi only befriended you because he thought you were me?” Osamu said, a smug smile on his face.

Atsumu cocked his head to the side and blinked a few times, mouth gaping open like he was waiting for the punch line of a joke. When Osamu didn’t say anything more, Atsumu put his hands on his waist, looked at the two like they betrayed him.

“You know what… I don’t want to know… I’ll text you later for the modelling you owe me…” Atsumu just said, walking away and out the room, slamming the door on his way out.

Osamu snickered, then stopped when Akaashi stirred in his sleep.

“Sorry, babe…” Osamu mumbled, placing a soft kiss on Akaashi’s forehead and rubbed a hand on his arm to soothe him.

Akaashi hummed, and opened his eyes, vision unfocused as he blinked the sleep out of his system. He wanted to nap in between classes, and it turned out Osamu didn’t have classes nor was he working at the dark room so he just… asked if he could stay over.

“‘Samu do you think we’re going too fast?” Akaashi whispered against Osamu’s collarbone, his lip ring shifting against the skin.

“Hmmm? Why? Do you want us to slow down?”

Akaashi frowned, shaking his head. “No…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“What if I just forced you into dating me? Because of what happened thirteen years ago what if you feel like you need to date me?”

Osamu pushed Akaashi a bit, just enough so he could look him in the eye. They stared at each other, the room silent and dark around them, like a protective bubble protecting them. “Akaashi… do you wanna know what’s going through my mind when ‘Tsumu introduced you to me? When I thought it was our first time meeting?”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, adjusting on the sofa so he’s leaning his head against the back of it, looking up at Osamu. “Tell me…”

Osamu inhaled, laughing on the exhale as he scratched at his head. A blush was creeping up his neck, tinting the tips of his ears pink.

“I thought you were really really beautiful…” Osamu started. “And I wondered what your lip ring would feel like if we kissed…”

Akaashi unconsciously bit his lip—a nervous mannerism he isn’t aware of—Osamu eyeing the motion and inhaling sharply. He looked away, running his fingers through his head.

“And after that, I got an existential crisis because… because I didn’t want to see you in black and white anymore…”

“What do you mean?”

Osamu chuckled, he reached for Akaashi’s hand, slotting their fingers together and marvelling at the feeling of it fitting perfectly. 

“Akaashi Keiji… who would have expected you’d be the one to get me into colored photos? So the hell to what happened thirteen years ago, I still would’ve wanted to date you even if that didn’t happen...”

Akaashi’s eyes widened, mouth opening in surprise at what he said. “Wait, really? Are you serious?”

Osamu nodded, eyes crinkling as he looked at Akaashi blushing and biting his lip.

“You mean I made _the_ Miya Osamu capture and print colored photos?”

A chuckle bubbled up out of Osamu’s chest as he nodded again, and he held Akaashi’s hand tighter, his rib cage tightening around his heart like it’s trying to suffocate him. But the pain was good, he knew this pain, this pain feels like happiness.

Akaashi smiled widely at Osamu, then his face changed, like he just realized something.

“Are you still curious?” he asked. 

Osamu just raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Curious about what?”

“What my lip ring would feel like if we kiss?”

Osamu swallowed, sweat suddenly beading on his forehead as he stared at Akaashi’s mouth, the plump pink lips and the thin silver band around it, taunting him. Akaashi chuckled and licked his lips, waiting for Osamu to move.

“... Well… I was just, uhh… just curious, really, so—”

“‘Samu just kiss me.”

That shut him up, and he looked at Akaashi, at his tan skin and his blue eyes that has been haunting his mind for a few weeks since the shoot. He used to stare at him—behind the camera, while processing his photos, on the screen of his computer—and now he’s here, in front of him.

Osamu leaned closer, and as if he was pulled, Akaashi leaned forward too, meeting Osamu halfway as their lips crashed against each other.

It was gentle, Osamu was afraid he’d somehow tear Akaashi’s lip because of the piercing, so he settled with soft movements of his lips, savoring the feel of Akaashi’s mouth against his.

Osamu imagined a lot about what kissing Akaashi would feel like—mostly when he couldn’t sleep at night and his mind naturally wandered to the beautiful man. He imagined it so much that it now feels familiar, like they’ve been kissing for years and this is just one of many. The piercing isn’t as felt as he expected it to be though, even as he made a tentative lick on the band, earning a chuckle from Akaashi.

Akaashi pulled away, biting his lip and cupping Osamu’s jaw in his hand.

“So?”

Osamu exhaled a shaky breath, eyes darkening as he stared at Akaashi’s lips.

“Well… I think I haven’t satisfied my curiosity yet…”

Akaashi laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the empty dorm room, and he put a loud smack against Osamu’s lip, then sat up from the sofa. “Let’s continue later? I have to get to class, sorry…”

“Oh no, no… sure, later…” Osamu answered, clearing his throat and composing himself.

Akaashi smiled down at him as he fixed his clothes, straightening his wrinkled shirt. “Promise?”

“Promise…”

Looking back, Osamu shouldn’t have been surprised that Akaashi was the one who made him take colored photos. After all, he was only nine when he met a boy in a bright hot pink skirt. 

Osamu should’ve known that Akaashi was always meant to bring color into his black and white world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on twitter [@kodzucress](https://twitter.com/kodzucress)!


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